What It Is, And What It Isn't
by Amarin Rose
Summary: Semi–Sequel to LGB Pairing: Roy–Tim Summary: Roy has a thing for Tim. Tim has a thing for Roy. But after they get together, there’s still going to be problems afterwards that they have to solve. :COMPLETE:
1. Fixated

**Fixated**

* * *

Despite what a lot of people thought, Roy had never had a thing for Dick. He and Dick were too close of friends for there to be anything else (anything more) between them.

And jokes about his flexibility aside, Dick was straighter than one of his arrows. Plus, they were waaay too much alike when it came to fucked up mentor (daddy) issues.

Jason was hot in an 'I like kicking ass and having sex' way, but he was angry all the time, and jailbait, and then he was dead.

He wasn't dead anymore, but Red Hood was even more fucked up than Batman, which made him someone Roy wouldn't have fucked even when he was high.

The blonde chick was also hot, in that same kicking-ass-and-having-sex way, only she wasn't nearly as good at the ass-kicking, and well, she was also dead.

The newest Robin, however, number three (and, well, technically also probably five, now that he was back in the game)… He was…really good. Sharp, quick on both his mental and literal feet, and an all-around good guy.

Dick had never called Jason his 'little brother' with such affection in his voice. But that probably had more to do with his relationship with Bruce than with anything else.

The new Robin was also… Well, a lot of people called him Batman Junior. Or Mini-Bat. But he wasn't; Roy could tell that straight off. Dick was the acrobat, Jason was the street-brawler, the blonde chick was…well, she hadn't been around long enough to for Roy to find out…but Robin 3.5? He was the detective. (Like Batman – World's Greatest title and everything.) And the ninja, if those tabi boots, his bo staff, and those nerve strikes that he'd never seen anyone but mercs use were anything to go by.

Dick said the kid had actually **trained** with Lady Shiva. The world's most fucked up assassin. The guy had balls. (Like Batman – he'd trained with Ra's al Ghul, back in the day. David Cain, too.)

The current Robin had most of Batman's deductive abilities, most of Dick's acrobatic abilities, and all of Alfred's understated snark and sarcasm, which was more than enough to make Roy be in awe of him – and fear him. He was also really hot, could really kick ass, **wasn't** jailbait as of last week (or so he'd been told), and also wasn't dead (yet), which was more than enough to make Roy have a thing for **him**.

Now, if only he could find out the guy's name, he might actually be able to **do** something about that.


	2. Unreal

**Unreal**

* * *

Reality sucked. Roy Harper was positive of that.

Especially when Poison Ivy was feeling the spirit of the season around Valentine's Day.

And Roy had thought all those sex pollen jokes that circled through the cape-and-tights community were just that – jokes. Just his luck to be in Gotham City when Poison Ivy decided to attack Dinah's florist shop. And why did he agree to water her plants while she was in Guadalajara on a mission for Oracle, anyway?

For that matter, why did she need **him** to water her plants, if Robin was already doing it? Well, not Robin, Tim – that was a nice name; he hoped he got plenty of chances to use it in the future – since he was in civvies, not that it mattered.

Oh, hell, yes, it mattered. Considering that instead of chasing after Ivy, Tim had his hand down Roy's pants, and was devouring his protestations along with his lips, his tongue…

**Where** did Robin – Tim – learn to kiss like that?

"You inspire me," Tim murmured in his ear; apparently Roy was so out of it on Ivy's pollen that he was speaking all his thoughts aloud.

The lack of coherent thought thing was actually one of Roy's better memories of being high, but he never remembered his libido acting like this when he was shooting up on heroin. One minute, he was bathed in golden dust, shooting arrows at Ivy – which were intercepted by **vines** of ivy – the next he was making out with Tim against the cash register.

Not that he was complaining, but he didn't need to be even the World's Second Greatest Detective to know that it was the pollen that was making them do this.

"This…this isn't real," Roy groaned around a mouthful of Robin's – Tim's – neck. It wasn't real – but it sure felt like it. Felt…good. Really good. And he'd wanted this for a while, besides, which was why it was so hard – so **difficult** – to make himself stop.

He'd never been any good with temptation.

Anything else he might have said was prevented from coming into existence by Tim's lips latching onto his. Tim moaned into Roy's mouth, before ripping their lips apart once. He panted hard and pushed against Roy's chest, separating them by bare inches. Focusing lust-hazed eyes on Roy's own, he growled, "Yes. It is."

Roy licked his lips and croaked out, "Sure?" He didn't know if he was asking Tim if he was sure this was real…or if he was sure that he wanted this. Wanted him.

If he'd thought Robin's 'I'm going to kick your ass' expression was hot, it had nothing on Tim's 'I want to fuck your ass' expression. Nothing but lust, need, want, and pure predatory intent. "Yesss…" Tim hissed, yanking him back into another one of those soul-devouring kisses.

Well…maybe they could make their own reality for a while.


	3. Instant

**Instant**

* * *

Despite what a lot of people thought, Tim had never had a thing for Dick. Robin, sure, but that was more hero worship than anything. Plus **he** was Robin now, so…

And jokes about his flexibility aside, Dick was straighter than an arrow (and still hung up on Barbara, even though she hooked up with Dinah **months** ago). Roy Harper, however…

And Tim knew he had a bad boy fixation, but he didn't care. What he **did** care about was making sure that, whenever the Titans and the Outsiders worked together (which was a lot more often than most capes counted on) he didn't get anyone hurt and/or killed because he was ogling Arsenal's ass.

That was what the after-battle celebrations were for. When Roy was too drunk to notice him, and he was too tipsy to care if Roy did.

For a moment, upon waking, Tim almost thought that that was what had happened: he'd had too much of the 'No, it's not spiked; no, really, we wouldn't do that with minors around' junkyard punch that Grace was so proud of (and that was probably two-hundred proof, if such a thing existed in this galaxy), had gotten drunk, and had crashed upon whatever flat surface was nearest.

Considering the way his head was hammering, the taste of dust in his mouth, the feel of some sort of mold growing on his tongue, and the fact that his body ached all over…Tim wasn't entirely sure that that **wasn't** what had happened. But the surface he was lying on wasn't flat – it was the velvet-glove-over-iron-fist silken steel of a muscular body – and what he remembered from the previous day was that his memories showed no sign of a Titans/Outsiders battle against badness…and every sign of one of Poison Ivy's more amorous and kinky attacks.

It was probably a very bad thing, waking up somewhere – he didn't **know** where – naked. Naked, with Roy Harper underneath him. But considering how long Tim had been wanting to be in that position with that very same archer…he really couldn't bring himself to care, or to give a fuck.

A quick sweep of his surroundings revealed that they were in the back room of Dinah's flower shop, sprawled across her foldout couch in the back. Convenient, that.

He sat up carefully, trying not to disturb his couchmate, and winced despite himself. Apparently 'fuck' **had** figured into the equation at some point the previous night. Tim did a few testing stretches, and nodded in satisfaction; a few extra katas in his morning workout, and he'd be street-worthy that evening, if a little achy. They'd actually been more careful in their passion than he would have given the two of them credit for, considering how potent Ivy's pollen had been. He hadn't even been able to think beyond, 'Yes, need more of him **now**!' until Roy had tried to make him stop.

Tim bit his lip and eyed the still sleeping archer; maybe he should have listened to Roy. It wasn't exactly the most auspicious beginning to a relationship. But what was done was done; he couldn't change that, and wasn't sure he would even if he wanted to.

Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, Tim started looking around for answers to fill in the blanks of his memory. Another quick glance around the back room revealed a couple of condoms among the detritus scattered around, and since Tim knew he didn't carry any in his civilian guise (and he'd recently switched to Ziploc bags as Robin, because they made **much** better evidence bags, thank you very much, Hornywing) he knew they had to be Roy's. His estimation of the archer's sense of responsibility ratcheted up a notch; not that it had ever exactly been low to begin with.

Though it was most probably years of **lack** of responsibility on Roy's part that lead to him being able to think of protection even when drugged out of his rational, coherent mind.

Spying his pants, and what had to be Roy's boxers – he'd never owned a pair of silk purple ones with yellow smiley faces on them in his life, despite the weird gag gifts Dick gave him – on the floor next to the couch, Tim decided he should probably get dressed. Ignoring his pounding head, he followed the trail of clothing and brought the bundle back to their impromptu bed. He was only halfway through buttoning his pants when he heard Roy groan.

_Start as you mean to go,_ came his dad's voice in his head, and for once Tim decided that the late Jack Drake had, for once, given some good advice there. "Good morning, Roy," he said, opting for pleasant contentment over overdone cheerfulness. Even if a rather-more-large-than-small part of him was jumping up and down in glee at finally having Roy Harper mostly where he wanted him.

Roy tensed at his words, and turned over on his back, eyes widening once they caught sight of him. "Hell," he croaked, head thumping back against the couch cushions. "It wasn't a dream."

"No, most people think of Bludhaven as a nightmare," Tim quipped, then mentally smacked himself. Levity wasn't the way to calm Roy down; not right now.

Roy winced, frowned at him, and simultaneously levered himself up with his left arm, while using his right to rub some feeling back into his face. Once he was in a sitting position, he snagged the rather moth-eaten afghan that they had apparently covered themselves up with and tugged it up over himself. He then eyed Tim up and down, before demanding, finger stabbing at him in seeming accusation, "Why are you not freaking out?"

Tim shrugged, conveying a nonchalance he didn't really feel. "I'm not upset." At the moment; whatever Roy said could change that.

Roy blinked, obviously startled. "You're **not** upset?"

Tim nodded.

Roy's face scrunched up in skepticism as he asked, "How can that be? You just had sex, against your will–"

"–against my inhibitions," Tim corrected, because really? His better judgment had already judged Roy as worthy.

Roy flushed, but continued, "–with someone you barely even know–"

"–I know more about you than you think, Roy," Tim interjected. _And you know him biblically now,_ a snarky little voice that sounded like a mix of Dinah and Babs added. "And I'd like to know you even better."

"–because of some crazy Plant Princess's sex pollen, and you're **okay** with that?" Roy finished his question, hands waving in the air as if to illustrate his point – but they only succeeded in underlining how much **he** was freaking out. "You – we wouldn't have done this if Ivy hadn't–"

Tim caught the slip; maybe telling Roy the truth would only make things worse, but Roy seemed to be feeling more guilty than freaked out. Maybe, just maybe… "Maybe you wouldn't have, but I would," Tim replied with all seriousness. He was unable to keep his cheeks from coloring, however; there was only so much nonchalance even he could project when he was half-dressed with a naked man. A very sexy naked man, one whom he'd wanted for months.

Roy took a moment to digest that, his own face flushing red as his hair as realization dawned. "Oh."

Tim allowed the moment of silence to stretch to Plasticman proportions before he finally snapped it like a rubber band. "Look, I realize this…was a surprising situation, and it happened very suddenly, but that doesn't mean we have to pretend it was a momentary aberration and act like it never happened." _Which is what he wants to do, I'm sure,_ a dry voice that sounded like a mix of Dick and Steph added.

Roy eyed him doubtfully. "Oh?"

"Oh," Tim replied dryly. "I think we could make this work."

"'This'?" Roy asked, so off-kilter he actually made air quotes. And consequently dropping the musty blanket half-draped over his chest, giving Tim a very nice view of his…lower abdomen.

Good thing he was a master at multi-tasking; he could strategize and ogle at the same time. "A relationship, Roy. Don't try to snow me; I know you know what they are." Roy tried to pretend that he'd do anything on two legs, but he had Lian to think about – and future siblings to be careful of – and Tim knew that he was very selective in his conquests.

Possibly he shouldn't have used his Bat-training for stalking his not-secret-anymore crush, but since he didn't exactly know how to go about things the normal way, it seemed his only recourse.

Licking his lips, Roy's eyes flickered around the room like a firefly, looking anywhere but at Tim. Finally, he allowed, "We could give it a shot."

Tim felt a smile spread slowly across his face. "Yeah?"

Roy's smile wasn't his usual self-assured brilliant grin – but it was sincere. "Yeah."


	4. Domesticity

**Domesticity**

* * *

Reality sucked. Tim Drake was positive of that.

What else was there to say about the fact that Roy 'I'm Easy' Harper was practically avoiding him like the plague? Admittedly, he knew better than almost anyone (who hadn't been stalking Roy's every move) that Roy's reputation as a ladies man and laid-back guy was extremely exaggerated. At least, ever since Lian was born.

But he and Roy had been sharing his apartment for three months and Tim had taken note of certain things. They slept in the same bed – and did nothing more than that. Every single kiss that had happened between them, Tim had initiated. Roy freaked every time he touched him, tensing up before relaxing not **quite** as much. He was as skittish as a virgin, which was funny, considering that after what had gone on in Dinah's flower shop, neither of them were (anymore).

He liked living with Roy, even though at the moment his main role was homemaker. He didn't start at NYC until the fall, he still hadn't picked a major, and until he picked a new codename – eighteen **was** a bit old to be a Boy Wonder – he was going to keep filling in on monitor duty shifts at the Watchtower.

They were disturbingly domestic, for all that they weren't having sex.

And it wasn't like he brought Roy breakfast in bed; just coffee, because Roy was preverbal before his daily dose of caffeine. And Tim liked talking to Roy. He liked taking care of Lian in the afternoons after she got home from school, before Roy got home from work. He liked all three of them eating dinner together – even if it was takeout from Senora Wong's Chinese/Tex-Mex fusion place – before he had to leave for his monitor shift on the JLA Watchtower.

He liked falling asleep next to Roy at night, because that was the one time Roy seemed to be okay with touching him: in the dark.

This was never going to work if Roy wasn't going to try. They hadn't exactly **planned** this relationship – though Tim had planned **on** it if Roy was at all inclined, which he was, and Roy had mentioned having similar plans – but Tim had certain expectations for their future, considering they'd been living in pseudo-marital (un)bliss for the past three months.

Well, he had had. Before the 'unbliss' part of the situation had made itself apparent. It was like they'd fast-forwarded through the honeymoon period that night in the flower shop, skipped over the young-and-happy years when they moved in together, and went straight to 'staying together for the child(ren).'

To say Tim was becoming overwhelmingly sexually frustrated was like saying Batman was a bit maudlin. He'd basically been thrown into an ocean of carnal delights for one night, and then stranded in a desert for the past three months. If they were going to crash and burn, he damned well wanted to light some fireworks first.

But that was beside the point – for the moment.

With that thought in mind, Tim very carefully orchestrated Roy's next day off. Lian was at school, he'd switched monitor shifts with J'onn (who, as the best listening ear in the tri-galaxy area, always ended up playing Dear Abby, Ask Ann, Dr. Laura **and** Dr. Ruth for the JLA and all associated heroes, and had cheerfully decided to try to help everyone with relationship difficulties before they became actual problems) and was waiting in the living room for his lover's return.

They'd had sex once – well, several times in one night – in a drug-induced haze. Could they really call themselves lovers? Tim genuinely cared about Roy, but he was beginning to wonder if Roy felt the same.

The sound of keys turning in the three locks on their front door rang through the apartment, snapping Tim out of his thoughts. He was about to find out.

Roy walked through the door, took one look at Tim, and backed up a step. "Uh-oh. What happened?" he asked apprehensively, automatically fearing the worst.

"Nothing…yet," Tim tacked on in the event of honesty. Start as you mean to go, after all.

They'd started. He just wasn't sure where they were going, if anywhere.

"You don't have a 'nothing' face. You have a 'something' face," Roy argued, closing and locking the door behind him without ever taking his worried eyes off of Tim.

Tim tried his best to project 'all is well' vibes. From the pinched expression Roy still wore, it wasn't working. "There is something that I feel we need to…discuss," he allowed.

Groaning in not-quite theatrics, Roy slouched down on the couch across from Tim. "And in no-Battish English, what you just said was, 'We need to talk,'" he snarked.

Tim allowed himself a smirk. "Basically. But it's not as bad as all that." _Yet,_ he added silently.

Roy raised one russet brow into the bangs of his once-more floppy hair. "Oh, it isn't, is it?"

"Not yet," Tim said. "But if we don't talk about it, it's going to get worse." He didn't want things between them to get worse. If things got worse, they'd probably break up, and Tim didn't want that.

Looking wary, Roy asked, "What will?"

"Our relationship – or, rather, lack thereof," Tim stated baldly.

Roy blinked. "Huh?" He appeared completely clueless, but lurking in those guileless green eyes was a hint of knowledge…and guilt. "What do you mean?"

Tim sighed, shifted in his seat, and decided to just dive straight in. "You haven't kissed me once in the past three months, Roy. I'd call that a problem."

"We've kissed," Roy objected.

"No, **I've** kissed **you** while you stood there like a statue. But you've never taken the initiative, and you've never kissed me back," Tim said, voice resonating with the hurt he was trying not to express. He wasn't sure that wasn't a tactical error on his part, but they needed to talk things through without blaming each other…right? "I mean, if you don't want this…want me…you could just say so."

Roy gaped, opening and closing his mouth several times. His eyes, ironically, were so wide they resembled a supervillain's once they caught sight of one Arsenal's arrows aimed at their jugular. Finally Roy slumped down in his seat, running a hand back through his hair in agitation. "I just…I didn't want to **push** you," he said. "I want you, I do, just…"

Roy looked so frazzled that Tim couldn't help but soften. He shifted over from the easy chair to sit next to Roy on the couch. "Roy, you've never pushed me." He laid a reassuring hand on the archer's arm. "But right now, you aren't even meeting me halfway."

Roy eyed Tim's hand on his arm, eyes wild. "I…I know. I just – I didn't know what to do."

Tim eyed Roy skeptically. He got the feeling he was missing something. "You…didn't know what to do?" Admittedly, aside from Donna, Roy hadn't had many long-lasting, serious relationships, but that didn't mean he hadn't had lots of sex.

"Yeah, I…" Roy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening his eyes once more, he said in a babbling rush, "That night, I should've stopped myself– I shouldn't have–"

"You were messed up by that pollen the same as I was, Roy." Saying 'high' in this context would get only Roy to clam up faster than Batman when Jason's name was mentioned, Tim knew well. And he **still** wasn't sure what Roy was getting at. "And I distinctly recall you being the only one who **did** try to stop us." Maybe Tim should have listened, but he'd been blindsided by the sheer raw **need**, and pretty much unable to think, and he wasn't sure he could have. His inexperience had apparently worked against him.

"But I shouldn't have–" Roy repeated.

"Why? Because you're older? More responsible?" Actually, no matter that Roy was more responsible than the average person (who didn't know him well) gave him credit for, Tim had always been obsessively anal to a degree which had occasionally frightened even **Alfred**, never mind Bruce. "I hate to break it to you, Roy, but we were neither of us having a very meaningful relationship with reality when we…got together." And he thought he remembered saying something to the effect that neither of them should be blaming themselves. That didn't mean Roy had agreed with him, however. "I can't believe you're still beating yourself up about it."

"I can't believe you **aren't**!" Roy shouted, jerking back out of Tim's half-embrace.

Stifling the instinctive flash of hurt at yet another rejection from his lov– from Roy, Tim shrugged with fake nonchalance. "Why should I?" he asked practically. "We're both of age, we weren't with anyone else at the time, and it wasn't like we were the only superheroes in the vicinity who could track down Poison Ivy." Tim had found out the morning after the night before that Batgirl had caught Ivy and delivered her to Arkham not an hour after her flower shop romp. A few of Dinah's plants hadn't survived Ivy's assault, but Oracle had already ordered replacements and had everything set to rights by the next evening, so the only loose end from their fabled night of passion, was…well…Roy's seeming phobia about becoming intimate with him.

"You…" Roy shook his head, and let out an explosive breath. "You didn't have to do all this, you know. Move in and, and help me with Lian, and try to be a fam– Just because…it happened, it doesn't mean that you had to– You could have just gone on your own way; we could have still been friends." It was almost like Roy was reassuring Tim that he could leave at any time, which was…not what Tim wanted.

But maybe it was what Roy wanted?

Frowning slightly, Tim said, "But I wanted to be more than friends." That was the whole point of him moving in with Roy, after all. To see if they could make a relationship work in the long-term. Aside from the physical and romantic aspect, it seemed to be working out pretty well. Roy was a considerate roommate, though he was rather messy for Tim's tastes. He also tended to rotate between several different takeout places when it was his turn to cook. But then Tim was slightly anal about everything, neatness included, and Tim could only cook three different versions of spaghetti, plus a half dozen other dishes. "And I thought you did, too." Although maybe he'd been mistaken about **that**? Maybe Roy had been feeling guilty, and that's why he'd agreed?

Tim felt his stomach sink through the floor.

Roy stared at him, slack-jawed. Only his intermittently blinking green eyes gave away the fact that he wasn't a particularly odd piece of statuary: _The Gobsmacked Man_. "You…" Roy swallowed. "You mean you…you really meant it?"

Tim frowned in confusion. Meant what? He'd said…a lot of things over the past three months. A lot of it good, some of bad, most of it in between.

"That night," Roy clarified. "When you said you…" Roy bit his lip and looked away, eyes flicking back to Tim every so often. "That you wanted me?"

"For a while," Tim confirmed, flushing at the heartfelt honesty in his own voice. He'd never been very good at voicing his wants; he'd gotten through most of the relationship stuff with Roy by channeling everything he'd done and said through Robin's determined mindset. It scared him how well that seemed to work, but as long as it was his words simply bolstered by Robin's confidence, he wouldn't worry overmuch.

It could be worse. He could be acting like **Bruce**.

"I, uh…thought maybe it was the pollen," Roy admitted in apology. "You know, that you were…seeing things in hindsight through lust-colored glasses or…something."

It suddenly dawned on Tim that despite his resolve to actually **talk** to Roy when there were problems between them – instead of ignoring them, as most of the Batclan tended to do – he'd never actually gotten around to telling Roy a few important, key things. "This isn't me making the best of a bad situation, Roy," Tim stated, catching and holding Roy's gaze with his own. "This is me taking advantage of a rather serendipitous…accident, to finally tell you how I feel. How I've felt for **months** – months **before** we got doused with Ivy's pollen."

Roy swallowed hard. His eyes did their best to pop out of his head, and his eyebrows ran for cover in his hair. He looked, if such things were possible, even more startled than he had moments before; _The Flabbergasted Man_, perhaps. "Oh," he said weakly. "I…didn't know."

"I didn't tell you," Tim said practically. "I probably should have." No 'probably' about it, if Roy's reactions of late were anything to go by. The archer had apparently been under the impression that Tim was in this relationship because he felt it was his 'duty' or whatever, sort of like those guys who married their girlfriends simply because they got them pregnant.

Responsibility did not always entail martyrdom (though you'd never know it, to look at Bruce).

Tim wasn't Bruce, no matter how many people thought he was. "I may be a Bat, but I own my interpersonal issues, Roy," Tim joked.

Roy snorted, seemingly despite himself. "Yeah, I…I was kinda getting that impression. What with the relationship talk and…everything else you've been doing around here." He waved a hand to illustrate…something.

Tim flushed. "I haven't been doing anything special." At least, he didn't think so. Granted, he was taking his model of a regular relationship from the Kents, but one could hardly do better.

"Maybe not," Roy allowed, tugging Tim closer by virtue of a hand on the younger man's wrist. "But **you're** special." And then he leaned across and took Tim's mouth in one of those soul-searing kisses that he remembered from that night.

Tim moaned, and gave himself up wholeheartedly to the kiss he'd been wanting, yearning for.

This didn't solve everything. Roy had a tendency to avoid his problems until they went away, and Tim had a tendency to be oblivious to his problems until they walloped him over the head. But if they could talk to each other, they could work most things out. It wasn't perfect; but it was close. It was **real**, moreover, and in this business, that meant a lot.

Hopefully, they could stay there for(ever) a while.


	5. Epilogue: Bliss

**Bliss**

* * *

Three Years Later

* * *

"Is this love?" When he first said the words, Tim, nearly smacked himself for quoting a cheesy eighties pop song.

Mostly, he was trying his best not to hyperventilate. His decision to forgo his obsessive Bat training where his and Roy's relationship was concerned – such as not planning out conversations/arguments/discussions with said lover – had worked for him so far, but apparently it had finally worn out. He **definitely** could have chosen a better time – and a better venue – for this…little tête-à-tête.

Roy was blinking at him from across the breakfast table as if he thought Tim had lost his mind. Lian had just scampered off to get dressed for school; they had about fifteen minutes before they all had to leave, Tim to take Lian to the bus stop before he teleported up the JLA Watchtower and then to the Clocktower to relieve Barbara for his shift as Oracle (2.0), Roy to the Outsiders HQ to go over the quarterly accounts, and then an afternoon training session with the rest of the team.

The chain of events Tim had just set into motion with his words could not possibly be resolved in such a short time.

"What…exactly…do you mean?" Roy asked carefully, as if he was picking his way across a minefield.

It was, of a sort: one wrong move and this conversation Tim had planned could blow up into a huge argument.

"I just…" Tim paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Having centered himself, he opened his eyes and focused on Roy. "We live together. We work together. We raise your – **our** – daughter together, and do all that PTA stuff together," Tim said. They also had some pretty spectacular sex, but that wasn't really the point of this conversation. "There isn't a single part of our lives that we don't share in some way with each other. We're a…well, we're a **we**, Roy." That's why he had had such a hard time with his realization last week – when Dick congratulated him on his upcoming anniversary – that he and Roy had never told each other 'I love you.' They did love each other…didn't they?

Roy nodded to show that he'd understood; but the expression of confusion on his face still hadn't gone away.

"And we've been doing it for **three years**, Roy. But we've never said the words." And Tim was sure that it was all his fault. Roy had a lot of self-confidence when it came to archery or debauchery, but his self-esteem was sadly lacking; it had more ups and downs than Dick and Bruce's relationship. Roy obviously hadn't felt like he could say it unless Tim said it first, and Tim hadn't, so…

Tim was just starting to work himself into a good brood when the silence from across the kitchen table caught his attention and snapped him out of it.

Roy gulped. Guilt flickered across his face, and Tim's heart sank, before he ruthlessly suppressed his anguish. He didn't know anything…yet. "Um…actually, I have said it," Roy admitted softly.

Tim blinked, shaken from an intense feeling of vertigo. He felt like he'd been walloped over the head with one of Harley Quinn's mallets. "… What?"

Roy bit his lip and shoved himself out of his chair, not meeting Tim's eyes. "You know how I…all that Navajo I use when we…when we make love?" Even with only being able to see his lover's profile, Tim could tell that Roy was blushing redder than his hair. Roy always got either embarrassed or defensive whenever anyone brought up his Navajo heritage, as if he felt like he was one step away being ridiculed for his differences.

Tim softened a bit, at least around the eyes; over half a decade of making facial expressions so they could be seen around a mask hadn't gone away now that he had a quote-unquote 'normal' job as one of Oracle's operatives. "Yeah, I remember." He didn't know what any of the words meant – he was, understandably, a bit preoccupied the times they were spoken and never remembered enough of the sounds to be able to look them up – but the emotion in Roy's voice had always been clear. And now it was apparent why. Roy **did** love him, and there wasn't a problem – except for a lack of communication.

Roy cleared his throat, eyes flicking up to meet Tim's momentarily before focusing on someplace to the left of middle distance. "I…I kinda say it…then. I mean, I know I should've used English, or one of those other languages you know, I just… It should've occurred to me you wouldn't understand, and why the fuck you'd ever say it back I didn't ever expect…" Roy started babbling, and like loving Tim, it was something he couldn't stop, even if he thought it'd just end up in a train wreck, causing him to hurt more.

Tim was so full of emotion at the moment, he felt as if he would burst. Roy loved him; everything else didn't matter, and what did could be worked out later. He grabbed Roy by the shoulders and stopped the flood of words with his lips. Once Roy's mouth softened into his and he started kissing back, he pulled back. "I love you, too, Roy," he murmured.

Roy grinned at him, and was just leaning in for another kiss when an imperious, "A-**hem**!" came from the doorway.

Standing there, arms crossed over her purple corduroy pinafore and white T-shirt, scuffed sneakers and slouching socks on her feet, Lian Harper looked nothing so much like a pint-sized version of a mother who'd just caught her kids with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar.

Lian turned expectant, demanding eyes on her two fathers. "Daddies, are you fighting?" she asked, both worry and peevishness infusing her voice in a mix that she must have learned from her 'Granma Canary.'

Up until that moment, Roy hadn't realized that, with the way their arms and legs were positioned, it could look like they were about to punch each other instead of kiss each other.

Looking down at the raven-haired child who possessed his lover's eyes and held his heart, Tim could only speak the truth: "We were, but not anymore."

"You made up?" she asked, giving them both a shrewd look. She wasn't quite seven, but extremely astute for her age. And she **always** knew when something was wrong, even if the adults in her life didn't.

Roy nodded and smiled. "We sure did, pumpkin."

"Then you should kiss," Lian pronounced.

Tim and Roy both blinked at her, so she elaborated, "When you fight, you're supposed to kiss and make up. Granma Canary said so last time she and Auntie Oracle had a 'disagreement' over Granpa Ollie's chili." Lian said that while sketching air quotes, with an expression on her face that underlined the fact that even at six years of age, she knew 'disagreement' was just a more polite way of saying 'fight.'

She was full of the righteous indignation only a child could have while berating her parents for being so stupid – and she looked adorable.

Roy coughed and covered a smile. Tim just huffed a laugh and did his best not to burst out into giggles at the thought of what had most probably occurred during that 'disagreement.' Dinah hated Ollie's chili; whether because she'd eaten so much of it over the years or because Ollie still thought her relationship with Barbara was a 'phase,' not even Babs knew. Babs, on the other hand, loved spicy food, the spicier the better. And it didn't get spicier than Oliver Queen's 100-Alarm Chili.

Tapping one sneaker-clad foot on the tile floor, Lian prompted, "Well? I'm waiting, and I have to get to school."

Tim and Roy exchanged mirthful, disbelieving expressions, and, resigned to their fates, leaned into each other, arms wrapping around one another, and kissed. Chastely, because of the young eyes watching them. When they pulled back, they looked at Lian.

Lian was smiling brightly, and nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now, I'm goin' to go and get my backpack so you two can **really** kiss, and then Daddy Tim will take me to the bus stop," Lian said, before turning straight around and heading for her room.

"We have the best kid," Tim said, smiling at her retreating figure.

Roy's eye softened and he smiled. "Yeah, **we** do," he agreed, pulling Tim into another kiss. This one wasn't chaste at all.


End file.
